


Take (Me) Out

by Zeiskyte



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro's Dubious Mental Health, Copious Amounts Of Swearing, Eventual Shuake, Gen, M/M, Pizza Delivery AU? Is that a thing, Post-Canon, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeiskyte/pseuds/Zeiskyte
Summary: With all the shit Goro's gone through, who would have thought the most life-changing event would happen at age 22, delivering pizzas to a Phantom Thieves party.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	Take (Me) Out

**Author's Note:**

> This really started out as a joke and then I tried to write it and it became angst. You may be wondering, why does Goro still have his personas? Because those are his emotional support personas and this boy needs all the support he can get.

In his short pitiful life, Goro had done some pretty awful things for money. He received a (very minimal) paycheck for fabricating his entire career as a detective, right down to effecting the same cases he was praised for solving. (Honestly, Goro thought he deserved a medal for the show he put on for the public sometimes. He could sell one of those, and that could pay for some nice sushi.) Holding up shadows at gunpoint - which, admittedly, was the easiest way to cash in and he would be a fool not to take advantage of it. Then there was fulfilling hits for Shido, because how else would he afford his apartment? Assassins needed a place to sleep, at the end of the day. Of course, paying rent was a rather low level of fulfilling his Hierarchy of Needs; working his way up, slowly slipping into the place of Shido's right hand man, and personally pulling out the meticulously-placed blocks supporting Shido's weight and watching the man sink to his lowest point was the goddamn cherry on top of his self-actualization.

And while Goro had done some pretty awful things for money -

"The address is on the receipt. You have the keys for the bike?"

Nothing was as embarrassing as _this_.

Goro bit back whatever profanity crawled up his throat, swallowing it down to never see the light of day. Instead, he pulled his lips up into the caricature of a smile, hiding Loki's fangs beneath Robin's bright and shining visage, and took the boxes from his - _shudder_ \- co-worker. "Yep," he all but chirped, pitching his voice up so he was, once again, the boyishly charming now-retired Detective Prince Akechi Goro and not the seething shark underneath. "I am the only person on delivery this shift, the last time I checked."

The shark was always there, of course. Loki had the tendency to gather all of Goro's anger and frustration and expunge it from Goro's heart to be pumped and circulated through his veins until hatred encompassed his entire being. It slipped through sometimes because, you know. That happens. Robin Hood was on constant PR control - that is, if Goro's soul could even _have_ public relations. Goro reasoned with himself that if large manifestations of cognition such as palaces could exist, his currently-on-fire mental office could exist too, god damn it.

Unperturbed by his half-threatening smiles like he was a defanged snake, his co-worker waved him off. "You better head out before the order gets cold, Akechi-kun!"

Goro struggled to keep his eye from twitching, opting to spin on his heel and head to the bike so he could hide his face. How had he been able to maintain this polite persona all the time as a teenager? And in front of the entirety of Tokyo on a daily basis, no less. When there were countless cameras all pointed at his heavily made-up face, sometimes it felt like the entire _world_ was watching and searching for imperfections in his mask. After his stint in the public eye, Goro realized that an introvert pretending to be an extrovert was destined to fail from the very beginnings of his rise to fame. He shied away from human interaction as if it were a fire stoked with pleasantries and talking about your feelings and _ugh_.

Exiting out the side door, Goro would have loved to slam it behind him to release some of his frustrations. Breaking something would be nice, right about now. He took in a deep breath, focused on the tight feeling in his abdomen, held himself there for a few moments, and exhaled once his vision began to darken at the edges. Destroying something right now would accomplish nothing, he reminded himself - no matter _how_ good it may make him feel. That fleeting moment of self-satisfaction would hardly be worth the consequences left in destruction's wake.

So. Goro pulled himself together (about as well as jagged, chipped, broken-off and hotglued-back-together pieces could fit together) and loaded up the boxes on the back of the bike, pulling the belts to keep them in place. Inspecting the receipt hastily taped onto the top box, he recognized the street name and mentally configured a map and his route to get there. Loki had an impeccable sense of direction - how else would he have been capable of navigating the Metaverse by himself before the Phantom Thieves? - and it was second nature to tap into that talent.

He swung his leg over the side, placing one foot on the pedal and keeping the other stationary on the ground as he placed the red helmet over his head. He fumbled with the straps and locked the safety in place with a few grumbles under his breath, reaching towards his belt loops to unhook the key ring. Placing the key into the ignition and turning, Goro expected the bike to roar to life, rev up with the intensity of a race car - and when the old thing sputtered in desperate need for oil, Goro hung his head in a mix of disappointment and shame.

Much to his dismay, the bike moved at what felt like a snail's pace. Honestly, Goro was certain that this bike's speed was an insult to snails everywhere. He took in another recomposing breath, tightened his grip on the handlebars, focused on the cinching in his core, and choked out his exhale because _was the bike supposed to be making this many fumes?_

Of course - of _course_ the fucking bike would break on him. Take a breath. Don't break something. Focus on - exhale. _Don't break something_.

Goro turned the key and pulled it out of the ignition with more force than necessary. He didn't even have it in him to rip off the helmet and throw it into the middle of the street. Composing himself - enough to keep himself together, to not fall to his knees and start clawing off his own skin - he took slow, deliberate steps towards the shop's garage. Jamming the other key on the ring into the lock on the door, he kicked the door back to let out _some_ of his anger before carefully, meticulously screwing the lid on his emotions in a practiced motion. Goro was a professional when it came to having a mental breakdown and caking himself up for an interview hardly fifteen minutes later.

Considering the spare bike was leaning against the wall, Goro decided that not all of the gods had abandoned him at this point in time. Maybe just one, singular, non-manipulative god said, "Let's not fuck over Akechi Goro for once in his life." - before leaning over to the other, less benevolent gods in a poor stage whisper and saying much too loudly, "that's allowed, right?" - because, who was Goro kidding. Apparently he _had_ been screwed over by a god before. And the score was currently Gods 1 - Goro 0. How delightful.

Goro walked through the barely-lit room, darkness licking at his feet like an unfed puppy. The bike was hardly illuminated by the dim rays of moonlight, and for all Goro knew, there could be a demon sitting on the seat. (Robin assured him that there wasn't one, he would be able to sense it - so there was at least _some_ relief that settled down the anxiety bubbling in his gut.) He found the handlebars and wheeled it out of the garage, pulling the door closed behind him and locking it.

When he walked past the original bike, Goro glared at it as if it had personally wronged him - and, in all honesty, it _did_. What a fucking stupid piece of shit -

He shook his head. Take a breath, count to ten, focus on something, _exhale_. He began unstrapping the boxes from the original bike, carrying them over to the back of the new one, and started with the belts and the safety precautions because he needed to do something mind-numbing, allowing his hands to do the work while he stared, eyes unseeing.

Luckily the second bike worked, revving up (but not roaring to life like Goro had childishly wanted) and not producing enough pollution to cloud the entire Tokyo night sky. For how his day was going, Goro would consider that a win. He recalled the address, bringing Loki to the forefront of his mind to pinpoint the location. And - _there_.

Goro lifted his foot off the ground, allowing the bike to carry him onto the main roads. His body seemed to move on its own, guided by Loki's directions. The July air was crisp, nipping at the exposed skin on his arms because uniforms were only short-sleeved apparently, and Goro detested wearing a helmet because the wind in his hair would have alleviated his stress even just a smidge. He passed the time by observing the buildings he rode past, bright lights and signs and overtly loud music catching his attention with each twist and turn. Despite driving through Shibuya's busy streets more times than he could count, Goro could still feel Robin watching from behind his eyes with a childish curiosity, inexplicably drawn in by the flashy, ostentatious sights of the city.

It was only when Goro unconsciously pulled over in front of an average-looking house that he realized he had arrived. Goro shifted his weight, pressing his foot onto the asphalt of the sidewalk. When he swung his leg over the side, he put his hands on his knees and leaned forward with a sigh. There was a deep aching in his bones, and his exhaustion weighed down on him heavily. It was fine - it was almost the end of his shift and considering he still needed to ride back, he could clock out after this delivery. Wonderful. He could take a hot shower, decorate himself with pain-relieving patches, maybe take a swig of alcohol while he was at it, and hopefully fall into a coma.

Another sigh, but this time, Goro successfully managed to stand up, unhook his helmet, and hang it off one of the handlebars. He undid the heavy duty straps holding the boxes before hefting them up into his arms. There were five of them, so this was probably a party. Ugh. Hopefully Goro could drop these into the arms of the host, accept the payment, weasel out a tip with his large doe eyes, and be on his merry way.

Making his way up the walkway, he shook his head slightly to fix his helmet hair. He should have ran his fingers through his hair before he picked up the boxes. Whatever, this was a fifteen second interaction with another nameless face. He'd ring the doorbell, hand over the boxes, accept his payment, and be done with it.

Turning sideways, he hit the doorbell with the point of his elbow. He turned back, facing the door with the stacked boxes blocking his face. Good - no eye contact, less interaction. Goro waited, staring at the boxes in anticipation, tapping his foot to expell some energy. He glanced to his sides, noting the... odd decorations on the lawn. In the dim moonlight, they almost looked like pirate ships and pirate replicas. Okay. Whatever. Goro really shouldn't judge, considering his growing Featherman figure collection. He was finally indulging himself for the childhood he was never afforded, and he was going to do it _right_. Besides, those Red Hawk and Black Falcon figures complimented each other so well, it would be a crime to separate them.

He was about to ring the bell again when the door finally swung open. From behind his stack of boxes, all Goro could make out was the inside being lit up with obnoxious neon-colored lights, some awful, grating electronic dance song, and distant screaming. A frat party? It was none of his business, but sometimes Goro liked to speculate to give his mind something to do.

"Delivery," he said in his people pleaser voice, as if the stack of boxes in his arms wasn't enough of a give away. He searched his short-term memory for the total, and Robin retrieved it for him. "4800 yen, please."

When ten seconds of silence passed, Goro's fingers tightened around the box directly clutched in them. Was this customer fucking mute or something? Feeling anger begin its journey up to his throat, he repeated his mantra: take a breath, focus on - the boxes. Focus on the boxes, start counting -

" _Akechi?_ "

\- lose count because Sakamoto _fucking_ Ryuji peered around his mountain of boxes, surprise etched all over his stupid dumb fucking features - _take a breath, Goro. Take a fucking breath, god damn it_.

Plastering on a smile and praying Sakamoto would overlook how strained his voice sounded, Goro pleasantly said, "Sakamoto-kun! What a coincidence!"

The man in question stared back at him, now-completely black hair illuminated by the flashes of light coming from inside the house, and Goro decided to focus on Sakamoto's new ear piercing to keep himself grounded. "It's... been a minute," he laughed awkwardly, lifting his arms up like he was going for a _bro hug_ or whatever the fuck Sakamoto would do upon seeing an old friend, but ultimately let them drop back to his sides. "And now you're a pizza delivery guy?"

Yep. Goro's eye was _definitely_ twitching now. He forced another strained smile on his face. "Can't exactly loot the Metaverse anymore," he tilted his head slightly, not missing a beat when he said: "While I hate to cut this reunion short, I have work to get back to and you still haven't paid me yet."

"Right," Sakamoto fumbled, eyes flicking between Goro, back to the money in his hands, back to Goro - "I'm short about 300, hold on a second," looked over his shoulder, opened his mouth, yelled, "Akira!"

Goro's brain short-circuited. He reached forward, took the yen from Sakamoto, and promptly dropped the boxes into the man's arms. " _Don't worry about it consider it a friend discount I really must be going now_."

Before Sakamoto could even rebut, Goro just short of _ran_ back to the bike, slammed the keys into the ignition, and hightailed it out of there. He refused to look back, pushing a considerable speed above the city limit, and shoved the yen into his pocket so he could grip both handlebars. The helmet _clinked_ with every bump, and to salvage his sanity, he pressed it onto his head and shakily locked the safety under his chin at a stop light.

Goro took a breath, held it far longer than necessary while focusing on the blurring street lines in front of him, and shuddered with his exhale. He should be over this. He was 22 now and he had cut off all ties with the ex-Phantom Thieves years ago. What were the fucking chances of him delivering pizzas to Sakamoto's house for a Thieves party? Now they were all going to know. Ex-Detective Prince, ex-personal assassin and Metaverse terrorist, Akechi Goro - a pizza delivery guy hardly making minimum wage and barely paying the rent of his shithole apartment. Fate sure was a bitch, huh.

Honestly, he was surprised his peace had lasted so long. Roughly three and a half years of a Thiefless existence - how lucky he was, a few hours ago! Maybe that god he was musing about earlier was just as manipulative as the rest of them. Really fuck his life up any more, why don't you. Another life-ruining inconvenience was nothing. Take a number, line forms to the fucking left.

Goro took in a shuddering breath, tightened his grip on the handlebars, focused on the pizza place slowly getting closer, and held it until he pulled in thirty seconds later. Lightheaded, he swung his leg over and stood up. Wheeled the bike and leaned it against the garage door, removed the helmet and hung it on one of the handlebars, and kicked it for good measure.

When he let himself back into the shop, there was another worker at the register - not the same one as earlier. Time shifts must have switched over. Great. Goro could clock out, get back to his apartment, drink a bottle or three of his strongest alcohol, pray he had horrible liquor tolerance, and hopefully never open his eyes again.

He rummaged through his pocket, dug out the yen he snatched from Sakamoto, and pressed it down onto the counter. "I'm done for tonight."

The other man nodded, not taking his eyes off his phone screen. "Good night, Akechi."

Goro turned on his heel and strode towards the exit as fast as he could manage while still pretending to be a normal, functioning human being. Considering the other worker's complete indifference, Goro could have just kept the 4500 yen and claimed it was for emotional damage. Maybe if he walked back in and took the money off the counter, the other guy wouldn't even bat an eye. And after Goro's night, he really deserved that 4500 yen.

Retrieving his bicycle, his old one back from his high school detective days, he began his ride home. Maybe he should quit the following morning. If the only tie between Goro and the Thieves was where he worked, he could easily sever that connection. He didn't particularly like pizza delivery, and he certainly didn't find the profession flattering. He could live with himself after quitting.

Goro narrowed his eyes, a frown pulling his lips downward. He had no back-up plan. If he quit his job, then what? He'd be homeless within a month. Maybe this was his sign from the divine to finally stop being a coward and put a bullet in the space between his eyes and hope he lost awareness before it reached the back of his brain. (Robin chided him in that mother hen tone of his, tracing all the way back to Goro's orphanage days where Robin had just been a voice in his head and Goro had been convinced he was crazy.)

22 years was enough. _18_ would have been enough, too - but a certain Kurusu Akira hadn't allowed Goro even _that_ luxury. Wouldn't a reprieve from all of his suffering be nice. Goro had spent his entire life looking towards the six foot hole in the ground dug at his feet, calling his name. Apparently that was too nice for a bastard like Goro to enjoy.

By the time Goro was standing at his kitchen table, he couldn't even remember chaining up his bike, walking up the building's staircase, or letting himself into his apartment. The gun was in his hand, safety already pulled. Well, that was convenient.

Goro's gaze stuck on the pistol. Black, sleek - it had hardly seen any use in the past few years. He mused that pizza delivery men don't have much of a use gunning down criminals, so it was understandable. Slowly, he raised it to his face, pressing the muzzle between his eyes.

Goro took a breath, counted down from ten, focused on the cold chill of the metal on his skin, threw the gun down on seven, and _screamed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up because here we have: Akechi _the breathing technique they taught me in therapy isn't fucking working_ Goro, Loki the GPS, and Mommy Robin Hood. This was originally supposed to be some dumb one-shot but here we are.


End file.
